Resilience
by rhetoricfemme
Summary: Kaoru finds himself in the middle of an introspective moment in regards to his life, the people within in, and impending hearing loss.


An insistent wind ruffles Kaoru's hair every which way but the one he's intended, though it feels of little matter right now. Standing outside of a side entrance into Narita International Airport, he welcomes the stiff breeze as a means to be affected by something that is not in and of himself. All around him, from the sky to the building he leans against, the world exists in monochromatic shades of white, silver, and grey. The wet, black concrete of the runway captures him the most, though Kaoru finds it more bothersome than anything.

Kaoru has never cared much for the clean, white-upon-white lines of minimalism, though he can at least understand the appeal in it. Where Kaoru prefers the warmth and stimulation of rich burgundies and teals, he knows how for some people a monochromatic palette can feel like a breath of fresh air. These days, he feels for monochrome as he always has: transparent, lacking, and a little bit sad. The only difference is the way in which he's come to identify with the aforementioned of late.

More frustrating yet, is the worry that his morose will be improperly discerned. Losing one's hearing is no small thing, though for Kaoru the initial concern is less a tragedy, and more an inconvenience. Where Hikaru seems to always have an earbud in and spent most of high school with headphones around his neck, so Kaoru has always enjoyed well sought instances of silence.

He'll deal with it.

That's not to say it doesn't hurt—knowing his days of hearing clearly, and then hearing at all, are questionable and numbered. Being congenital in nature, Kaoru's had time to adjust to the promise of deafness, to the occasional new pang of disappointment and sadness. On the whole, however, it has little to do with the loss of sound. No, the crux of Kaoru's pain lies in the fear of irreparable disconnect from those he holds so dear.

How then, does Kaoru convey the source behind this occasional lack of color?

He doesn't.

They're irrational, personal upsets as far as Kaoru is concerned, and ultimately he knows there is no leaving him behind.

Alas. Here he stands at the airport, on a day where logic is not one of his more prevalent traits, while overbearing irrationality remains.

Impulse demands he run away; engulf himself in the mounds of work that suck him in like debris to the center of a storm. Intuition keeps him in place, however, as well as faith in those obnoxiously steadfast people who would know where to find him, anyway.

It is just a feeling. This too, shall pass.

Below the surface, he knows they need him as much as he needs them. It's more than nostalgia, truer than some far-reaching sentimentality. It's concrete enough that he feels it in his bones.

And so he waits for the arrival of a plane, standing in faith to certain facts. Truths about the joy he'll continue to derive from certain faces, and the knowledge that the souls behind them will always be the gentle tethers keeping him safely on the ground. Kaoru's spine straightens dutifully because he knows that for his fellow ex-host clubbers, he is a piece of the foundation, too.

He stands for now, confident in his unfailing ingenuity to make good out of bleak situations, and his ability to take the most from every day.

It feels as if the universe is feeling generous today, granting Kaoru just enough self-assurance to overshadow his previous weaker moment, and all just in time.

Finally he spots the plane, his eye following from its first appearance as a far off fleck in the sky. Eventually he locks eyes on Kyoya, disembarking the aircraft with exhausted, yet perfectly squared shoulders.

Kaoru's grateful for certain barriers that are easily broken away for a certain level of privilege, and he watches on from his place outside the terminal door. There's a twinge of irony, he thinks, that even with the license that comes with traveling by way of private jet, he'd bet money that Kyoya didn't get a single wink of sleep on his flight.

He's more grateful yet that he sees Kyoya first, in doing so is able to gauge how to best spend their time with one another. Kyoya is as striking as ever, a discreetly thrilled smile adorning his face, though Kaoru can't help that the first thing he thinks of is how this amazing, insurmountably adept man of his just looks so _tired_.

It's nothing new when these concerns render Kaoru lost in thought, though the gently muted world around him leaves a former level of attentiveness to be desired. He startles all too easily when all of a sudden Kyoya is standing directly in front of him; for the first time in months breathtakingly near.

 _Pay attention, Kaoru, you can't afford to keep doing this! Either too much attention or not enough, honestly what're you even doing, certain adjustments should have already been made and you—_

Just like that, Kyoya's arms wrap firmly, comfortingly around Kaoru's shoulders. They inhale simultaneously and he catches notes of musk and leather hidden beneath cold, fresh air that still clings all over _him_.

Kyoya's embrace tells Kaoru everything he needs to know, and it leaves him with a flutter able to outmatch his anxiety. It confesses that Kyoya has seen everything but still chooses to pull Kaoru near.

Of the myriad reasons he has to adore Kyoya—and there are so very, very many—what Kaoru absolutely loves about this man is his unwavering confidence. His own devotion to the people and ideas he believes in.

Kaoru has always been quick to note that of every well-intentioned person in his life, Kyoya has always offered his hand, but has never been one to suggest, "You don't have to do this if you're scared."

Closing his eyes, Kaoru leans into Kyoya _just so_ , just enough to promise that when the time is right he'll cede to Kyoya his own needs. For now, however, he stands before the man who just flew halfway around the world simply to be near.

Within seconds Kaoru is pulling to full posture and drawing Kyoya in. He holds tight, and savors the weight that is put onto him. He finds sustenance within the reverence of love and security whispered into his ears.

He knows this feeling; this warm breath and spoken cadence that's been his now for years.

For all the support in his life, Kaoru prefers to first stand on his own before accepting the good will of others. He can't deny, however, the strength he finds in knowing that regardless of whatever else he loses, this feeling that comes singular with Kyoya won't ever disappear.

.

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Greetings and salutations! It's been a while, but I've got this headcanon kicking around inside my head where Kaoru has congenital hearing loss, which really begins to take its toll in his early-to-mid 20s.

I wrote this oneshot in answer to an OTP Quotes Challenge from my friend Pilindiel, with the quote being, "You don't have to do this if you're scared." And this is what I ended up with. :)

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!


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